


Shit Luck

by AuntyA



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-08 23:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3227636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntyA/pseuds/AuntyA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nested table - some of these beginnings show up in other works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This building is totally burning down

She was wearing a tshirt Barnes could have sworn was his. In fact he knew it was his.

Did he black out? White out? Grey out? He couldn’t quite get a picture of what happened after the meeting. And here it was days later. All he could remember was static fuzz. Maybe that woman had been in a meeting together with him. She was standing quite close to him. Closer than perhaps a stranger would be comfortable being to him. And the shirt? He couldn’t explain the shirt.

Who was that woman in his shirt? The woman who he was now standing next to in the elevator and he was trying so hard not to look at. He looked up at the elevator mirror, she was looking intently at the polished and shiny button panel of the elevator. Had he pushed a floor? He didn’t remember. Where was he going exactly? He felt his phone in his right hand. Floor 81 the text said on the screen. He checked the elevator panel and the 81 button was the only one lit. Great. Woman in his shirt was going to the same floor as him.

He checked her out covertly in the mirror. She was wearing one white iPod earbud, long-ish black puffy winter coat unzipped showing his shirt, maybe his shirt. She had long dark hair in a braid. Grey at her temples. Earrings, maybe six in each ear. Purse or was it a backpack. Tiny buttons pinned on it seemed to be Avenger themed memes. He groaned inside. Reeally. #WinterSoldier. Gah. She seemed stocky, solid but curved. Short. She’d fit right under his chin. Did he know this or was he guessing. She wasn’t young. She wasn’t beautiful. But she seemed familiar, like he might know what she smelled like when he was holding her tightly in his arms with her head under his chin. She also looked tired.

Ding, the elevator doors slid open. She turned to him. This is your floor she said. Well he thought that was what she said. The buzzing returned. The static got louder.

Wait. What? He could hardly hear her. She started to fade, getting paler like sunlight was getting stronger in his eyes, he squinted and lost sight of her, the elevator and the sounds lessening around him.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He blinked a couple of times. Natasha was shouting in his ear. The sun was shining in the room. A hospital room. His left arm was clinking as he pulled against the restraint. He heard the bed frame creak and bend just a little. He didn’t seem to be tied down anywhere else but he couldn’t really move anything but the robot arm. The room door thunked open. Not swinging open but sliding heavily into the wall. Like a cell door. Natasha had her hand on his chest, pushing him flat against the bed. She was shouting, no actually, she was whispering in his ear. It wasn’t sunlight. It was a pencil light held by a big man-sized shadow standing next to the bed. The shadow was shining the light into his eyes.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Natasha’s hand felt cold against his skin, her fingers half on his metal arm. He idly thought about the woman wearing that shirt, his shirt. Just some tshirt from OldNavy. Nothing special. But it seemed really important that it was his shirt. And did the women in his dreams always look tired? He lost consciousness again as the buzzing finally took him over. Laying him down again and washing over him.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Barnes saw her as she was crossing the street. She was balancing a coffee in a white cup and searching in her purse for something with the other hand. Glasses? Security pass? Wallet? Gloves? She didn’t see him. She had a white ipod earbud in one ear. He left the bus shelter and moved closer. Joining her in the crowd at the intersection. Standing a bit behind her. Walking when she started walking.

He did a weapons check with the bare minimum of movements. Check knives, gun, gun, taser check. Phone in one coat pocket. Key in the left pocket. Under his coat was his tactical vest. He could feel the straps under his arms and the weight across his chest. Was he protecting her? Was he stalking her?

Her hair was held in a big ugly plastic clip, she had two streaks of grey in her dark hair, one at each temple. Her hair was long over her shoulders and it looked wet at the bottom. She also had a big scarf wrapped around her neck over her coat, partially over her curly hair. Purple scarf. He wondered vaguely if she was wearing his shirt under her coat. She turned her head slightly and he caught her eye on him through the reflective window of the bank on the corner. She started to slow her pace. 

They walked slowly together, not really walking together, towards a government office building with flags over the door. She started to walk up the stairs to the front door, but then turned holding her coffee in one hand and reaching out the other towards him. She said aren’t you coming in with me? Or that’s what it seemed that she would be saying. He froze motionless on the sidewalk looking up at her. And then seemed to fall away from her his eyes on the fluttering flags above the doors. The flags suddenly seemed cold and made of stone.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Steve was talking at this meeting. Barnes wasn’t listening entirely, more just watching Steve’s mouth move. He knew it was English. It was Steve talking. Natasha was in the room. So were Sam and Clint. Tony. Pepper. Fury. Banner. Coulson. Thor. Some minions.

They were talking about Hydra. Pierce. Loki. He tuned it all back out and focused on the chair, his arms on the chair arms. His boots flat on the floor. Hand loose. Robot arm doing its thing. Back straight and away from the chair back so his weapons didn’t press into him. He had an earpiece hidden under his hair. That’s why he could hear Steve so clearly. Was he attending this meeting? Was he security for this meeting? Did he have a mission to assassinate one of them? All of them? What the fuck? They were talking about him. Barnes. He patted his left pocket with a poker chip key ring in it. What Steve? Tell me again Steve? With you until the end of the line? What did that mean exactly?

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

She walked ahead of Barnes and held the glass door open for him. She had used her security pass to swipe them in for the elevator and the front desk. He didn’t have to sign-in, he wasn’t searched, no metal detectors. There in fact wasn’t anyone at the reception area. He could see through the glass into the offices. She waited until he walked through the door and then slid her hand through the crook of his arm. She felt warm next to him as they walked.

They walked together across the office. She steered him to a cubicle workstation near a huge window with a pink visitor chair. He counted thirteen security issues before he sat down. He folded his body into the small space and waited with his hands on his knees while she stowed her purse in a drawer and hung up her coat. She logged onto the computer. He could see her password on a sticky note. This couldn’t be a government office, there was more security in the average high school than here. 

She swung her chair around. Her security pass was on a lanyard hanging down between her breasts. The neck of her shirt was low on her. He could see the tops of her breasts. Her security pass was in a luggage tag studded with red jewels sparkling, the lanyard had some art design on it also red. He raised his eyes to hers. She was looking at him calmly. So she said. What happens now?

He sat. She said so are you living here now?

He sat. She took the lid off her coffee in a brown take out cup and sipped it. Then she got something from the desktop, from a little cup full of pencils. And slid a key on a poker chip keychain across to him on the desk. Will you take a key? She said. Do you remember where the apartment is?

Someone popped up in the next cubicle. Hey how’s it going they said. Fuck off she said. They popped back down. She rolled her chair closer. She put her hand on his cold left arm. He could feel her fingertips through his coat. He looked at her face. 

Today she had red-framed glasses on. Red dangly earrings in the lowest piercing. Hair still wet held back in an ugly plastic clip he thought. His shirt. Jeans. Boots. He stared down at her hand on his arm. He said yes. She picked up the poker chip key fob and held it out to him. He took it. He moved to put it in his coat pocket with his phone but then changed it to the left pocket to do something with his robot hand.

Someone else walked by looking at them both. Hey there they said. M-hmm. She said back. They kept walking. He stood up. A woman in the cubicle opposite said you had a good weekend it seems. The woman wearing his tshirt said shut up. But she said it with a smile in her voice this time. And looked right at him. Looking right into his eyes as she said it.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The second floor apartment was crappy. Second floor windows on the street side unalarmed, ancient sliding sash windows. They still have that type of window? Only entrance was from an alley behind the store. Door at the top of the fire escape was mostly made of glass. It had been so easy to get in. Barnes sat in the kitchen and waited in the dark. Had he been programmed to come here? Told to come here? Did he do something normal for once and just pick up a woman somewhere instead of all this stupid spy bullshit?

He heard footsteps on the metal stairs to the apartment. Too light in step to be the bad guys. He relaxed a bit. He saw her hair through the window as she unlocked the door. The grey at her temples stood out from her dark hair and coat. Her face seemed pale as she walked in the shadowy kitchen. Thanks for waiting here for me she said. I didn’t think you’d come back to me.

She set her bag down on the kitchen table. Turned and opened the freezer on the fridge and took out a bottle of something. She shrugged out of her coat, put that on the table as well. She wasn’t wearing his shirt now. Walked to the cabinets and took down some tiny glasses. He saw that there was nothing really in the fridge or the cabinets. Was this a safe house? A front for something else? Did it matter?

She offered him a shot of something in a little glass full to the brim. He took it with his right hand and downed it in one go. She did the same. They might not have even been speaking English. He lost track of time. They had moved from the kitchen and the uncomfortable chairs to a little bedroom with only a low futon and blankets stapled to the walls. The bedroom door was open. He sat in the dark with his feet hanging off the bed, his back to the wall. He was still fully clothed, tactical vest and boots on. She had fallen asleep with her head in his lap, lying on the bed. He took the ugly plastic clip out of her hair and smoothed her curls out over his leg. Patting her long hair absently as he stared out the door into the dark hallway using his fingers to pull slowly through the grey at her temples and into the long dark curls.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Barnes was hugging her. Holding her. They were standing in the crappy apartment kitchen and it was daybreak this time. Her head fit right under his chin. She was soft and warm. Her hair was dripping a bit on his arm, her long curls hanging almost to her waist. She was wearing his shirt. He leaned in and kissed the side of her face. Her fingertips ghosted over his forearms. She brought her arms up his biceps and then wrapped her hands up and under his armpits, past the guns and tactical vest to embrace him back. She was quiet. He didn’t remember what they talked about or even if they spoke. 

He remembered the bathroom had no sink and she stood in the kitchen to brush her teeth. There was only a bathtub, no shower, and if you stood up in the tub you flashed the parking lot right outside the bathroom window. He remembered that the hot water took forever to start through the little rubber handheld showerhead attached to the tub taps. He remembered that she smiled at him when he put on his coat although she looked tired. She patted the pocket of his coat with the key in it and smiled at him.

She had braided her hair by that time. A long braid swinging when she walked. His eyes were drawn by the braid down to her ass in the jeans. She wasn’t thin. She had curves, body and breasts heavier than most of the agents he had worked with. She didn’t have to be lean. He liked her better this way. His hands cupping her ass and tightly pulling her hips to him. His right hand holding her breast up under a thin tshirt that he thought might have been his. His robot hand on her throat, under her chin, softly stroking her jaw with a metal thumb. Both his hands urgently pulling her closer to him. Both her hands firm on his back. Her mouth open and her warm breath on his cheek.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was cold in the early morning, dark even, and her hair was in an ugly plastic clip, lightly frozen in long curls down her back. They were standing in front of a government building. Her purple scarf was around her neck. She was holding a coffee in a white takeout cup. She looked up at Barnes, in one hand she had the coffee, in the other hand her security pass on a lanyard with a red design, red sparkles around the passcard.

He wanted to hold on to her. He felt something bad in the air. His left hand flexed the metal plates in his fingers. He moved from foot to foot. How could he hold onto her when she was holding these things, these stupid coffees and security passes to nowhere.

She stood very close to him, looking up at his face and his eyes, but then she shrugged lightly, turning away to the office building with the flags over the door. He wanted to ask if she was wearing his shirt but he didn’t. The weak winter sunlight flooded his eyes, she disappeared as his vision slowly became entirely white and the buzzing became unbearable.


	2. This plane is definitely crashing

That fall should have killed him, hitting the water from that height. Ruptured internal organs, fractured and splintered bones. Water was worse than hitting concrete. Falling like dead weight from the crashed helicarrier. He should be dead.

Again, Steve gasped with the shock of the water in his lungs, his nose, his eyes. His body tried to sit up, feeling streaming water from his mouth and nose. Choking and spluttering, his hands clutching at the pebbled rocky beach. Choked up. His eyes burning. Fingers splayed on the ground, scrabbling at what turned again into hospital sheets he could feel under him as he woke up for the umpteenth time lying in a hospital bed from the dream of waking up lying half in the stream. 

He sighed, wincing at the pain in his ribs, face and guts as he shifted on the bed. He brushed his damp bangs off his forehead with the back of one trembling and heavy hand. He tried to focus on the clock across the room in the harsh hospital light. He breathed heavily through his nose to calm down the adrenaline rushing through him.

Steve knew he had looked up from where he had lain on the shore. He knew he had seen Bucky walk stiffly away towards the woods. He knew it was Bucky under that grim face and that deathless grip. They still hadn’t found him yet. Maybe Hydra got him back already. Maybe he was finally dead. He knew what he saw on the helicarrier, on that bridge. He knew it and no matter. He knew Bucky had recognized him. Otherwise why wouldn’t’ve Buck just killed him there?

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Steve was in the middle of a workout. Running, endless running, his body trained to do this as if as a scripted routine, leaving his mind free to go over and over again what had happened during that battle. “Who the hell is Bucky?” Barnes had said. Was he angry when he said that? Had any confusion slipped into his eyes when he looked at Steve? Did Steve imagine the longer look Bucky had given him right before he fell? Steve was being a terrible witness. He couldn’t trust his recollections of the event. He was providing an emotional subtext in every step, every blow, kick, shot or stab, every threat, every glance.

Did Bucky see Steve as something other than the mission, the target? And that was why Steve wasn’t dead? They had fought almost matched in strength and reach and reactions. But Steve had a suspicion that Bucky would have killed him, could have killed him, but somehow didn’t. Why? Did he recognize him in the street? On the bridge? 

What if the shield had clipped Bucky in the face? Would Steve even have noticed that it was him and not just some hydra minion? Would Steve have been able to tell it was Bucky without his face? What if Bucky’s head had been blown off? Creepy robot arm can’t save you then. Super serum can’t stick that back on. What if Natasha hadn’t shot Bucky in the goggles so he didn’t have to take them off? Would Steve have been able to recognize him? Metal arm, long hair, all tactical gear and knives, strapped up and mean. There wasn’t much left of Bucky now. He had seemed taller, heavier. Totally different. Unrecognizable. Would Steve have recognized his eyes? What if the mask stayed on? Would Steve have been able to kill him then, no problem?

Why hadn’t Hydra or the Russians changed his face? How can you be an assassin for 70 years without changing your face? Scarring. Aging. Gaining weight? No, you have to remember there was some shitty Zola serum ripoff going on here, so no real change would be possible Steve thought, besides the bulking up and the sulking face.

Steve hadn’t done much knife fighting with Buck in the past. Or any actual hand to hand death matches when you get down to it. They had fought side by side, and for each other but not against each other. On opposite sides now. On opposite sides of humanity. As combatants to the death.

“You know me.”

“No, I don't!”

“Bucky. you've known me your entire life. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes...”

“I'm not gonna fight you. You're my friend.”

“You're my mission! YOU ARE MY MISSION!”

“Then finish it. 'Cause I'm with you 'til the end of the line.”

Steve stopped running to catch his breath. He felt a lump in his throat. He never got this winded while training normally. He felt like he was crying. Choked up. Eyes burning.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” 

He heard it again in his head. He put his hands on his knees and ducked his head. Trying to get his breathing back to normal from the gasping that sounded kinda like sobbing. The gym felt cold. He felt cold even though he had already been running for at least an hour. Jeez.

Why was this so important? Because there was no one else left for him. Everyone was old. Dead. Forgotten. Would Bucky even remember the same things, need the same things, miss the same things? No. Probably not. Scientific torture victim, serial killer spy, half-robotic man probably didn’t need a cup of coffee or a bottle of beer with a friend. Buddies. Any shared memories were probably burned out of his brain one by one by any of his evil handlers long ago. The long unspooling list of assassinations, murders, torture sessions would crowd out any dusty memories of a short shared history from 70 years ago. What the hell was there to say to each other?

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Even serum enhanced his expected survival time in 30 F water would be max. 45 minutes. No protective clothing. Loss of dexterity in under 2 minutes. Depth of the aircraft. Weight of the aircraft. Rapidity of the descent underwater. Size of the cabin filling with water.

Again, Steve gasped with the shock of the water in his lungs, his nose, his eyes. His body tried to sit up, feeling water streaming into his mouth and nose. Choking and spluttering his hands clutched at the control panel. His fingers splayed on the yoke scrabbling at nothing. The sheer weight of water in the plane was keeping him from moving. He wrenched the headset off with the hand he could still move. He floated up, with nothing to keep him in the seat. He winced at the pain in his ribs, face and guts as his air rushed past his face in a cloud of bubbles. He tried to move his hands as the church-like cabin filled up with freezing water. 

He was losing his air, the plane was already too far underwater, The giant plate glass window across the room was busted from the impact. And over 10 feet away from where he was pinned by the busted pilots chair. He’d never make it. Too cold. Wiring and bent metal was in the way. No strength to move to the back of the plane. The vast cabin was full of debris and icy water. He reached out in front of him. Reaching out for nothing. Reflex. Stupid Hydra plane. Like a sinking throne room that was gonna be his funeral.

He felt like he was hanging off that Hydra train again. That same fear in his heart. Steve knew he had almost reached Bucky when he fell. He had seen Bucky’s face expecting to be grabbed and hauled back up on the train. He knew Bucky had expected him to close the distance and grab his hand. Like always, getting out of whatever he got into just as smoothly. 

They still hadn’t found him by the time Steve stole the plane with the wacky plan. Maybe the damn Nazis got Bucky already. Maybe he was finally dead. Steve had saved him once real easy in Italy. He should have been able to save him again on the damned train.

Steve knew what he saw on the train. He knew it and no matter what anyone said, he knew it. He knew he could have saved Bucky. Now he felt his eyelashes freezing together in the water. Mouth full of water. Couldn’t move his arms anymore. Unsure if he was trapped or frozen. His vision clouded and darkened as his body slowly stopped responding and his overtaxed lungs stopped trying to breathe. He felt his heart slow and then the icy inky blackness took him.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Steve was actually on the road to meet up with the team in Maryland when he had his next panic attack. As he was driving the bike on a side road to avoid crazy Beltway traffic and to think, when a thought struck him like a hammer in the solar plexus, and left him with an aching hole there. There was no out for Bucky this time. Jail time. Death row. Disappearance. Detention. Assassination. Execution. Firing squad or lethal Injection. No trial would be possible. How could it be possible?

Steve had to pull over right then, get off the bike and puke. Somehow he got the bike on the kickstand, helmet off quick. On his hands and knees by the side of the road retching into the ditch. Stomach cramping, face freezing. His puke frozen on the ground. He paused, still crouched down, and wiped his mouth with the fingertips of a shaky gloved hand holding his helmet strap under his thumb. Helmet on the ground. One glove sitting in the helmet. 

What the hell Bucky? What the everlovin’ hell was going to happen? His other hand, was bare on the ground. He felt the cold under his palm. The snow burned his skin lightly where he touched it and he ended up moving his hand to his shaky thigh. Trying to get his breathing under control. He heard a car pass him on the road, not slowing down though. Fine, I’m fine, no problem here. Nothing wrong. Everything according to plan. Classic Captain America. Man with a plan.

The winter snow captured his eye from where he crouched in his position by the side of the road. The bike blocked his view of the road. He rocked onto his heels, snow crunching under his boots, but stayed low. The bike also probably blocked the view of him from the road. He needed a few more minutes to pull himself back. His head ached and he had an acid taste in his mouth.

Head down, Steve stared at the snowy ground six inches from his face. The snow blew across the ground in the sharp wind. The sun shone, everything was too bright, too crisp. Freezing. No heat from the winter sun. The blowing snow swept across the gravel road shoulder leveling to leave no traces of his presence. He slowly stood up, tentatively straightening his aching back. The dusting of snow had increased in the cutting wind. The wind smoothed out the snow into regular swirls and arcs, covering the side of the road.

He swung his leg over the bike and sat back wondering again why he had decided to ride on such a cold day. He took his helmet off the handlebars and put it on, doing up the chinstrap absently, wondering again how this was going to finally end. He pulled on his gloves wondering if indeed he had been compromised by knowing the Winter Soldier, knowing who he was inside. Squinting against the winter sun, sliding his sunglasses on, he thought again that evidently Buck just couldn’t live. 

There was no safe house, new identity or whistle blower legislation to protect Bucky. There would be no way to make that shit work out legally. How could he hide Bucky and get away with it? In the basement of his apartment building? Nowheres in the US that’s for sure. Canada? Europe? Nowhere. Solitary confinement in the basement of some pentagon jail? Never. Only in hell would Bucky be away from everyone who wanted him. 

Everything in Steve’s missions could kill him, every situation was fatal and his team spent a lot of time frantically working backwards in the command centre to create contingency plans for any and all of the problems. He needed to work backward for this one. People are gonna die, Buck. I can't let that happen. I can’t let that happen to you.


	3. This boat is obviously sinking

She hated DC traffic. Why is he jogging downtown in a park exactly? He should just get himself to the departure point but whatever. Fury had added her as a town car service until Steve was more ‘acclimatized’ to the future or modern life or Washington DC or whatever it was that Fury was talking about. She flexed her hands on the steering wheel. She had to admit the overly memorable for a spy Corvette was an okay drive. Certainly handled nicely. At least SHIELD didn’t make them take taxis or god forbid the metro. 

She could see Steve standing on the sidewalk ahead. She texted him “Extraction imminent: meet you at the curb. :-)” Steve loved those little stupid little emoticons. How unprofessional. She watched him check his phone. He didn’t stop talking with that other guy. She waited a couple of seconds to add a little professionalism to her entrance. Steve thought she just magically appeared. Little did he know how much planning went into every one of her actions to make it look that way.

She pulled up to the curb. Steve was looking sweaty. She didn’t understand him and running. He apparently also needed a shirt that fit him properly here in the future. Steve had his little brown notebook in hand. Like he can relearn 70 years of cultural context in a weekend of Netflix and Youtube. Oh well, guess it won’t hurt him to try at least. She wondered what she could get on that list that would just make him lose his mind. She’d add Reddit and 4chan/b. That would catch him up on modern life for sure. 

She rolled down the window, “Hey fellas, anyone know where the Smithsonian is? I’m here to pick up a fossil.” Oh that was smooth. Such a funny gal. He actually laughed. Simpleton. Old jokes for an old guy.

Captain Chatty finally got into the car. He really had no clue how to keep a low profile and not attract attention in public. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes as Steve kept joking with the cute guy. Steve didn’t take the hint so she rolled up the window in his face from the driver’s side to put an end to that conversation. They had places to be. 

+++++

In the dark on the plane, self-important Rumlow is running through the mission with the plans and the graphics. Captain Clean Cut is raptly hanging off every word he’s droning on about. The 3-D graphics are blowing his mind. Look at that paperless future.

She tuned it right out. Her hangover was throbbing dully behind her left eye. Standing around in a dark plane, zoned out. Pirates. Mobile satellite launch platform. Ugly mercenary photo. Sitwell. Now that’s something of interest. She wonders what that pinhead is really doing on that boat. She pretended to be alert and interested. The plane’s movement was making her feel slightly queasy. She would need to slow down on the cranberry kamikaze shots before a mission. She was probably still pissing straight vodka, should kill any UTI she could have imagined. Cranberry juice not really needed after all.

Uh oh. She had misread that situation just now. She snaps back in focus. Captain is getting all in Rumlow’s face about that boat not being where it is supposed to be on purpose as opposed to being genuinely off course. “Relax, it’s not that complicated.” She said, trying to take the temperature down. Not everything can be as cut and dried as rescuing a lady off the train tracks from a guy in a top hat and moustache. He should know that by now. Why did she even bother talking to him. She slapped her thighs lightly and moved from foot to foot waiting for this interminable briefing to just end already.

+++++

Before the jump, she made the stilted conversation about dating that Captain had come to expect from her. Like talking quietly to children to calm them while something horrible is going on that they don’t need to know about. It seemed to placate him before he jumped. Or rather, Captain Clean Cut of course takes a straight up running door exit out of the plane, alone, no parachute. And then he will board the boat from the water climbing the anchor chain of all things. Anyone else would have pancaked at that descent speed. Show off. At least he’s got his head into the mission now.

She however hated to get wet. It screwed up her hair. She appreciates the clean approach of the STRIKE force para-guys landing with nice calm accuracy on the deck. Even Rumlow manages to keep out of her way and shoot some guy before he lands. Boats. She kind of always hated boats.

+++++

This boat was no different. Strike force guys sort of getting in the way. Sitwell. Hostages. Only 25 Algerian mercenaries to start with. Captain has already taken out 14. Seriously. Algeria isn’t really known these days for being an unstoppable force. What is with these weapons? Too many different types for consistency. Wouldn’t want to be ordering ammo for this group of jerks. Everyone just has to be special. Right. Georges is Captain’s problem. Like a kick boxer can even get a touch on Steve. As long as Captain doesn’t do anything stupid. She would just shoot M. Baroc from above since the guy is completely out in the open. Nobody can kick that far or fast. But then Steve would complain about fairness or some nonsense.

Rumlow is dealing with the hostages. She has her orders under control now. More flirting that sounds completely flat to her ear, working overtime as Steve’s matchmaker. “I’m multi-tasking.” she said to Steve as she jumped down towards the engine room. Rather she’s working as a part-time yenta so he doesn’t notice she’s not really focused. Or paying attention to this lame mission if you must know. Back to task babe. 

Oh that’s her personal phone on vibrate. She stopped at the bottom of the shaft, quickly stepped around the corner from the chaos of yelling and random dying guys shooting and checked her phone. As she pulled it out she wondered idly if she’ll be back in time for breakfast. She hoped so. She read her texts. She smiled at one from her yesterday’s drinking partner and started to text a reply. Time change plus the travel distance back, some debrief, weapons locker stop. She might be able to make it. Maybe she could schedule a blowout before the breakfast. Don’t most hipster places serve breakfast all day nowadays?

+++++

“Hey Sailor.” She said when the mercenary first turned around. God, thanks for that Steve, now she can’t turn that crappy flirting off. She sounded like a fool. To make up for her embarrassment first she kicked the poor guy in the chest, then she wrapped the cable around his neck and took off downwards, landing with a light thud on the decking. Unremarkable boat. Random guys. STRIKE guys on the comms. 

Now Captain was on the comms. Typical. She wasn't going to be able to get the info she wanted from him while he was blabbing on like that in her ear. She had zoned out in the earlier briefing about the ship layout. Now what. 

She found a guy who wasn’t yet dead. She looked at the guy and then bent over to get closer. She snapped in his ear. She wanted to know about the data and for that she needed to be on the bridge. She straightened up and kicked him again in the ribs hard with her heel. He choked out some nonsense with bloodied lips she didn't care about. She snarled, already moving quickly toward the breezeway and the open door. He started to shout hoarsely and tried to get to his feet again. She hissed at him. Just lie down for god's sake. He started to shout louder now, getting his breath back. She snapped around, pulling from her thigh holsters. One in each hand, two shots, "Ta Gueule!" She said. French really is the language of love.

Moving on. Pretty lady. Death machine. Swearing in French now. Look out. Idiots all of them. She needed a soundtrack. She’d have to talk to Tony about that the next time she saw him. Her heels clicked as she moved through the door and on to the next set of idiots. She heard her cue on the comms. Damn, that texting distracted her and now she was behind schedule.

Captain wanted her to be somewhere else right now. She shouldn’t have spent so long on the phone. She wondered if anyone had noticed. She could just hustle and not be too late. Captain asked her again to respond on the comms. Okay moving right along. One, two, three, metal bar, and now four down. She tossed her hair. “Engine room secure.” She said into her comms. Checking her timing. She did okay to make up the time. It’s not like anyone was complaining.

++++++++++++

She heard Captain America go in a window somewhere. Glass smashing. She moved to across the empty bridge cabin in the half-light, and finds the USBkey. Her eyes scanned the control board, searching among the dials and screen. She found the port she was looking for. Used the username and password list Fury had on file for this network, it worked on the 12th try like a charm. God. Couldn't HYDRA ever come up with more clever usernames? Hydra!2014$. God.

She flipped her hair. She wasn’t so sure about the length of this bob. Any longer and she would need a hair band. That could be like a cape in a close fight. Bad. Hair scrunchy of death in the wrong hands. She narrowed her eyes watching the screen showing the data backing up onto the USB key and double-checked her weapons while she waited. Maybe some knife action on the way out. She was feeling like maybe she needed a little cool down before the extraction.

++++++

That sanctimonious Captain. At least he had finally toned down the uniform from the red white and blue onesie he’s been wearing. He had gotten in her face, trying to use his bulk to intimidate her. He grabbed her arm. Getting all up in her business. Mr. Uptight. Like he didn’t know they were spies. God. Why would he know the full extent of the plan? SHIELD often stacked their missions. Very cost effective. Hostages. Data. HYDRA goons. Probably five other missions going on at the same time on this boat even she didn’t know about. 

Back on the plane, sitting in dark she thought about the mission. Thanks to Steve she had glass in her hair and bruises on her arm. Thank you super soldier grip. She ran her left hand over her right bicep. He wouldn’t let go of her until she had snapped at him. Then he had the gall to look hurt as if she had let him down somehow. 

Why was he so naïve? Her mission didn’t conflict with his. Their missions were parallel. Rumlow would be running his thing. Sitwell had his own. Fury was just leveraging all of his talent. Let’s just say that the Captain was not the most savvy team lead she had worked with in North America recently. Boats. Nothing had happened on that ship to change her mind about them. She still hated them. Hangover or not, this mission with Steve had touched a little something in her memory.

She stared at her reflection in the plane window. When she had been doing up a little background context report for Shield on Steve she had gone through a huge amount of information. She found a strong indication that the assassin known as the Winter Soldier and the Captain had some shared history. 

What would Steve do if they crossed paths in the future. She corrected herself, when they crossed paths. Knowing Hydra, that connection was simply too perfect to avoid. She’d keep that info to herself. She hadn’t really called attention to the results in her report. 

In fact she had purposefully left out any mention of the relationship. If anyone wanted to look for it they would need to do their own work, and that work would have to be without the tattered Winter Soldier Hydra file she had put in her own safe deposit box. For now she was pretty sure no-one had made the connection but her. Certainly not the Winter Soldier’s current handlers. They were so smug. Thinking their little secret pet was still a secret.

She looked across the plane’s cabin to where Steve was checking some information out with Rumlow. She wanted to see that meeting between Captain America and the Winter Soldier when it happened. Actually, she changed her mind. She wanted to make that meeting happen. 

She flipped her hair back and then pulled out her phone. She scrolled through her address book and started to write that text to her hairdresser. She’d go with the shorter length bob and a blowout. She had already googled that breakfast place and they were still serving late. Her yesterday’s date would wait for her, of that she was sure.


	4. And my, and my, and my, and my

He sat on the patio where the contact had arranged the meet. His hand rested against the pint in front of him on the table. He let his fingers trace the moisture on the side of the beer glass. He let his glance sweep over the tourists hurrying to get to Faneuil Hall Market. He automatically reviewed the other people on the patio with their oysters and beers, checking for threat. He hadn’t been back here really since he had graduated. It was making him uncharacteristically nervous.

  
In fact, the last time he had sat on this North Market patio was with Van just after he had graduated but had not yet decided about the recruitment offer on the table from Pierce. And he hadn’t thought about her in a long time. Actually, just thinking about her made him feel like an asshole.

He rubbed his chin, she had always hated his stubble. Van had said it always made him look grumpy. Sorry Van, it seemed to fit in with his current persona. He hadn’t been clean-shaven since his modeling days.

He shifted slightly in his chair to readjust the holster under his left arm and the gun in his waistband at the back. He tapped his desert boots on the ground and felt the ankle holster on the right and the sheath on the left. He stroked down his jacket, he could feel the weight of his taser rods and the lightweight electro dampening vest. He was on time, dressed nice, all was good. He took a long drink of his pint. He was ready to hear why she wanted to talk to him and hear exactly what was on offer.

He saw the Widow walking across the street, coming towards him from Union Street. Her red hair was a bit shorter than the last time he had seen her, well it had been dark on the boat. Giant dark sunglasses of course. She was a supercilious bitch for sure. Just assumed he wanted in her pants like everyone else. Well no actually. She really wasn’t his type. She just assumed.

She thought she knew everything. He’d like to see what she had dug up on him. What planted lies she had been ‘given’. She’d have been surprised if she knew the ‘real’ truth. He’d probably forgotten most of it by this point but not everything.

As if he couldn’t tell what she thought of him. It was written in the brittle mask she presented to the STRIKE team. Probably saw him as Fury’s faceless minion. “Name’s Rumlow, nice working with you.” he had said at the start. She just looked back at him steadily. No response. No pulse? You know, he gave it a good try but he just really hated having her on the team.

He didn’t understand the hype. Strong, fearless, so what? Lots of those STRIKE robots kicking around SHIELD every day. He wished he could have just shot her on the boat on the last mission. Would have saved any number of people any number of unpleasant problems if he had. Okay, here she comes, Brock get it together.

She slid into the seat facing him at the table, and put her superstar sunglasses down on the tabletop with a click. She set her bag on her lap, hands on the top of the bag. She looked across at him. He sat with one hand on his beer and the other resting on his thigh. “Hey there Brock.” She said a bit sing song-y, and paused, her light tone not quite reaching her eyes.

He said, his voice low, “So, what did you want to talk to me about? Can we get this over with? This isn’t my favourite bar in Boston.” “Okay. Sure” She held up both her hands as if to say slow down, “Let me get a beer and we’ll get started. I’ve got something I want to show you, about a little theory I have. Thought that you might be interested in my theory, about the Captain…” She paused again, starting to turn her head to look for the waiter, she tossed the last half of the sentence over her shoulder along with her hair, “…and your friend, the Winter Soldier.”

++++++++++++

  
Being around the Captain, who had lost everything when he was frozen and then again when he was woken up 70 years later, was making him think too much about what he personally had lost.

He had first met Van at a magazine photo shoot. She was in the background picking up the clothes the PA was tossing around. He was fake laughing for the camera in his underwear.

It was a match made in heaven. She didn’t believe that he was a graduate student. He couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. And he couldn’t believe that she kept hot sauce in her purse because food was just not hot enough for her.

He’d told her mom. “I’m not army. I’m writing my thesis.” He wasn’t exactly lying. That was a grey area. He had been recruited the first time between his masters and PhD programs. But he had been so serious about finishing at his work in asymmetric warfare with the MIT Security Studies program that he had gotten a deferral, if you could call it that, until he graduated. He had finished school and went on missions. Seemed to work. Except it left Van out of the equation.

Van had hated his body when he came back from training the first time around. She said he looked sick with veins on his arms like ropes under his skin. He had tried to level out his training, keep a more normal silhouette but he needed all the strength to keep his speed. She hated that he’d kick and grab at her, striking hard in his dreams. Running attack patterns silently when he was asleep. He never remembered it when he woke up, didn’t remember it when he was alone.

They hadn’t moved in together. She had her own work in Boston, lived in Woburn. At that point, he was training all day everyday. He was still in Cambridge until he was in Virginia. Then he was in the Ukraine. He wasn’t allowed to tell her when he was in Vietnam. He thought she probably didn’t want to know what he was doing there. Then he was in Nicaragua and his luck ran out.

He was captured and held hostage in Nicaragua for 8 months. When he finally got himself out, healed and back to Cambridge, his apartment lease had been up for months already and all his stuff had been tossed.

Van wouldn’t take his calls. Van’s mom would only say “để cô ấy yên” over and over on the phone, the polite way of saying ‘leave the girl alone for god’s sake or she’s gonna get a restraining order’. So he ended up moving into the barracks that Pierce had set up in a nice condo building outside of DC. Boston had lost its appeal for him.

++++++++++++

“Thanks for meeting me on such short notice folks.” He said looking around the conference room at the team. Some odd choices he thought but Sitwell was picking them, not him. “We’re here for an event happening in 30, current location, small space take down.” He gestured at the items on the conference table, “Electric batons and these mag cuffs will be the most successful.”

He opened one of the two hard-sided cases to show the cuffs. “Hand to hand will be difficult but not impossible. He’s in his suit and has the shield. His shield’s useless in such a small space except for defence. Block him from the use of his arms and separate him from the shield and we are done before we get to the lobby.”

“I need folks to get on the elevator in this order from these floors,” he clicked on the overhead display listing the names. “From here I need you to get your gear and go directly to your assigned floors. Keep any other personnel from entering the elevator. All of you please remember that you will have to act like you are going somewhere in the building and not to a MMA fight.”

“I can make some small talk with him if necessary, but I’d prefer a quiet elevator.” He glared at one of the guys in a suit, “Curtis, you completely suck at acting, try to face away from the target until you get behind him. He’ll know for sure if he sees your sad ass face.”

He sighed, “Try to keep out of each other’s way. This small space can work against us as well. Group attack with the cuffs, individual strikes as you see openings. Be aware of each other.” He grinned, “First guy who tases me, exits the elevator using the window.” He got a laugh from that one.

“Get on the elevator, get behind him and wait for my signal.” He was annoyed by Sitwell’s stupid approach to this takedown but he’d deal with it. Not his circus, just his monkeys. “Greenberg, I’m not taking any questions, this is a simple elevator takedown. It isn't personal. Don’t fuck it up.” The guys in this room didn’t have anything to do with that Sitwell discussion and didn’t need to know he had lobbied hard for a straight up elevator system lockdown, gassing and removal team to avoid ten guys getting beat on.

“The key is to immobilize his arms and remember, super serum or not, taser rod to the balls will stop anyone for a moment.” He took one more look around at the team. “You and you, take the cases.” He shoved the cases across the table at them. “Let’s go get in position and get this party started.” He stopped and listened to his tiny earpiece. “Target’s on the move from Pierce’s office. Get going. Dismissed.”

He watched the backs of his ‘team’ walk down the hall and turned back to the room to turn off equipment and lock the door. He remembered reading something Van had been working on about etiquette in elevators for some film production set in the 40s. Complex instructions for greetings in elevators, who raises his hat first and how to get out of a gnarly hat tipping problem if a priest, a general and an ambassador’s wife were all on the elevator together.

He thought about how given a choice to come back from the dead and be a different person, he wouldn’t have chosen that era of red, white and blue to wrap himself up in. The world was a different place now. Who’d want to return to that white, uptight place? No spicy food in a place where men wore hats according to rules and women just were. Nowadays in our brave new modern world, you just put your hat on your head and went out for lunch with choices from six continents in every shitty food court, and women could be your boss like it or lump it.

He decided he would pretend he was going down to Forensics, a good enough metaphor for what was happening around him he thought. He put the taser rods he was holding in the back of his waistband and closed the conference room door. He wondered idly if there were any etiquette rules about sleeveless shirts in elevators.

++++++++++++++

God he hated malls. Almost gleefully he gave the order for the Hummers to be double parked in the street. Screw the parking lot. This mall reminded him of Cleveland for some reason. A dead space completely full of teenagers on dates idly gawking at tshirts at OldNavy.

He spread his team out across the open area near the escalators. “Give me a floor rundown.” he said into his comms. Ah, there she was. He saw them coming out of the Apple store. The super cloaking power of the hoodie was not working for her this time. And those glasses, shit Steve. You’re not Clark Kent.

He sent the guy working the floor with him to talk to the Apple store people. Now he was alone. “No hurting the nerds. Just get the info.” See Widow? I’m a team player for you. Sometimes. This time. Not telling on them to his team. His crack STRIKE team apparently blinded by the magnesium bright glare of consumerism and consumption and couldn’t see their targets right in front of their faces.

He kept his teams on the upper mall levels, them working downwards to keep away from the targets, while he worked the floor alone. And here we go, the obvious crossing of paths on the escalator. And look at that. Now that was a lovely sight, because kissing in a hoodie makes you invisible. Right. He couldn’t help but smile. The Widow was so obvious. He could see Steve’s ears turning pink as he looked back down at the couple kissing as they passed him.

He’d spend another 60 wandering the mall without a clue, sending his team subtle incorrect hints to gently move them away from the targets. Giving the Widow a chance to get out of there with Steve. She knew there were no guarantees if the team sighted them. That was what was agreed on. He didn’t care either way.

  
Catch them now or catch them later. They were being moved slowly but surely towards the starting point for the new plan. ‘Operation Freezer Burn’ had a nice ring to it. A sketchy plan outside of Pierce’s stated plans, but Pierce would end up give approval to all the necessary pieces to get Rumlow’s Freezer Burn in motion.

He saw some of his guys standing around in front of the Victoria’s Secret store. Typical. Maybe he’d get a pretzel on the way out back to the Hummers.

++++++++++++++

Rumlow ran the mission again in his head. Get the SUV to Fury and then unleash the asset. Asset takes Fury down and then is moved on to Widow and Steve plus whoever else is in the car.

Widow had discussed these details with him in Boston. How they’d get the asset recognizable and close to Steve. Mask off. Goggles off. Can’t do anything about the hair at this point. So she’d do her thing to get his mask off, anything short of shooting the asset point blank in the face.

The asset was now already moving to take down the occupants of the car. He’d reportedly lost Fury. Oh well. Get Steve together with the asset, full face view to recognize him or not, and bam. See what happens. Some electricity might happen. Or nothing will happen. Or asset kills them all. Or asset gets wasted.

Rumlow was hanging on in the speeding SUV heading over there right now. Focused entirely on the comms feed monitoring the asset. Apparently goggles were off now but not the mask. Some hand to hand should take care of that but maybe Steve wouldn’t make the connection.

They’d ordered the asset to use his knives. Use close combat as a priority attack. He’d do it. He did everything they told him. Keep himself close to Steve no matter what other opportunities came up. Pierce’s asset was something else entirely. Rumlow’d never seen anything like him anywhere ever. Widow should be running for her life right about now.

Whatever, he didn’t care. It just added some interest into this irritating mission. Then he could take care of whoever was left standing.

++++++++++++++

Seriously he just had shit luck. He came slowly back to consciousness and choked. His throat was closing. All he could smell was acrid helicarrier fuel soaking him and the surrounding office rubble. Glass covering him. Glass in his hair, did he still have hair? Dust caked everywhere. After tossing the winged guy, he had run as fast as he could but the giant fucking burning crashing thing had caught up with him.

His vest seemed to have protected his torso a little but his face, arms and legs were probably hurt bad. He couldn’t shut his eyes. His arms wouldn’t move. He couldn’t find his fingers. He had been effectively napalmed by the fuel. Goddamn crimson shits. Harvard had developed napalm in the 40s. That helicarrier fuel was developed by them too.

He was sure he was still burning but he couldn’t feel it. His comms crackled in his ear but he couldn’t hear any distinct sounds. His ears were ringing from the blast, full of relentless white noise. He felt like he was going to pass out. He knew his lungs were burned. He was choking on fluids or fuel or who knew what garbage was in there.

He had always hated the thought of burns. As he lay here now under the heavy layer of concrete and glass, he thought of a conversation he had with Van about her dad. Her dad had moved to Switzerland and didn’t come to the US with her and her mom. He was a photographer. Van’s mom had his photos hanging on the walls in their Woburn apartment.

Her dad was in the photo of Kim Phuc as a child on fire running down a road near Trang Bang in 1972. It was Van’s dad in the photo on the right of the little girl on fire, he was walking and reloading his camera. Only so much film in a camera. Everyone has to reload sometime.

And the last shot you have ammo for is always gonna be your last shot. HYDRA better come and get him fast or he better die fast. This lying around left him too much time to think.


	5. And my heart has slowly dried up

Location: N 53° 40' 26.191'' W 113° 26' 34.764'

If you were standing on the road, you would see only the top floors of the unremarkable 6-story building. Lighting the way in were two floodlights on the access road to the back and two unobtrusive barbed wire gates between the road and the building.

The building itself was flooded with harsh orange lighting from the ground and the roof and surrounded by what looked like four sets of fences, separated by snowy flat ground, made of chain link and topped with razor wire.

The matte green military transport vehicle with no rear windows moved slowly up the access road to a loading dock access area with a metal roll down door. The vehicle made a wide arc and backed up to the garage door.

If you were looking specifically at the building with high powered binoculars from a high vantage point, you might have seen the transport vehicle sit for a moment in front of the garage door, engine running, and then abruptly a searchlight snap on, spotlighting the back doors of the vehicle.

Two helmeted guards, hooded, masked and goggled, with weapons drawn in gloved hands, appeared cautiously around each side of the vehicle. The guard on the right reached out with an open hand, fingers spread wide, then moved to swing the right rear door open, weapon raised in the other hand. The guard motioned with a flick of fingers for the vehicle occupants to stand and move forward. The guard on the left swung the left door open also covering the men inside intently.

Captain America, stood up in the transport, left arm outstretched towards the dark figure behind him, motioning for him to step forward toward the open doors. Steve’s suit was ripped, he was sporting a purplish black right eye and temple, with an intense line of dark b ruising ringing his throat under his chin. He bent his head inside the transport as he moved towards the open door so he wouldn’t hit his head. His right hand held his shield tightly against his right leg, he seemed to be missing a finger. Blood was slowly seeping from a cut that ran the length of his thigh.

The figure behind Steve in the vehicle shuffled up to a standing position. The Winter Soldier, his face darkly bruised and his hair matted with blood by his left ear, straightened up as he half jumped and half fell out of the back of the transport. His tactical vest was ripped down the left side, his left arm sparked once as he moved.

Both men stood, somewhat shakily, at the rear of the vehicle. The heavily armoured guards moved back one pace to aim their weapons directly at Steve and the Winter Soldier’s faces. Serious business. No room for trouble.

Steve spoke first, ”I need to speak to Rahc. I haven’t been here for a while.” He held his empty hand out in front of him, moving slowly with his other hand to place his shield on his back with a comforting clunk.

The guard on the left nodded and then leaned his head slightly to speak into a shoulder mike. “Rahc – A067. Rear Doors. I have a retrieval outcome delivery confirmation requested at the loading dock.” He listened to something with their earpiece. “Personal. Confirmed.”

The guard paused and turned his face towards them. Steve could see his own bruised face distorted in the reflection of the black goggle lenses. “Identify yourself.” He stated flatly to Steve, sounding muffled through the mask.

Steve stood up straighter, wincing, and said “Captain Steve Rogers, asking for permission to deliver a hostage into your care.” He started to say more but the Winter Soldier suddenly pitched forward. Steve barely had time to catch him before he hit the ground.

The guards, moving together with ease, each took one step back with weapons steady and still aimed at their heads. Steve’s head was down, struggling to hold the dead weight of the Winter Soldier. Steve’s eyes were glued to the Winter Soldier’s bloody neck looking for a pulse.

He heard the guard say “Rahc – A067. Rear Doors. Situation 13. Urgent.” followed by a pause. Steve’s arms strained keeping the Winter Soldier from collapsing them both completely. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Steve heard the guard say “A067. Rear Doors. Update to A075. Permission to enter granted.” and with a startling grinding noise the garage door behind them slowly moved upwards.

++++++++++++++++++++++

Bucky struggled to regain consciousness. He could hear Steve say to someone, “Bury him for me for a bit. Keep him. I need him alive. Can you do that? Is that something you can do here for me? I know you’ve done it before.”

Buck cracked his one eye open. Moving his face was incredibly painful, his right arm felt like lead, his left arm was completely unresponsive. He couldn’t feel his legs at all. He licked at a corner of his mouth, salty. He was seated, slumped on a cold metal bench in what seemed to be a prison intake area.

Steve was responding to a soft voice he couldn’t hear. Steve’s voice was rising, edging a bit on hysteria, “It was…it was really… it was a hard fight. I...had to save him though. We had to fight our way out. I would have died for him.” He heard the low voice murmuring again. Steve responded quickly, his voice steadier, not so shaky, “I will still kill you if you do that. That is absolutely not part of this deal. No.”

Bucky’s focus suddenly snapped together and he saw Steve as if from the bottom of a tunnel. Steve was bending his head down to speak to a much shorter person. Bucky couldn’t focus enough to see their faces. Steve seemed to be pleading with them. He heard Steve say again, “You need to keep him for me until I can take him back. So you need to give him back to me when I ask.”

Steve’s voice got louder, “I just need some time to sort some…logistics out. Yes. I swear. I’ll do it.” His voice levelled out. “I swear. My word is just a good now as it was before.” Steve’s tone became harsh. “I’ll do it. I don’t have a choice now. I’ve burned every bridge and used every favour I ever had just to get to this point.”

He hesitated. “I killed some of my friends today.” Pause. “Rahc, I swear I’ll do it. But you will… you will have to give him back to me when I’m finished.” Bucky didn’t hear the answer Steve got. He was sinking back under the icy cloud that wrapped him up as he passed out again.

++++++++++++++

Bucky’s hair was held off his face in a ponytail he guessed. Still covered in blood and grime but now he was wearing grey pants and shirt, and laceless grey shoes he had no recollection of putting on. Left arm completely unresponsive.

The arm now had a thin metal cuff with a single small red slowly blinking light. It pulled on his shoulder now that it was turned off, it was just a heavy weight hanging uselessly. He could see the blinking light on his left arm and his shoes because he was limping painfully down an ugly lit shabby interior corridor in an extreme stress restraint position.

Visual was the hallway floor and the feet of the guards walking next to him. His hands and ankles in cuffs and chains locked at the waist to a wide leather belt. He was painfully bent forward with his head down and hands on the back of his head.

Four masked and armed guards moved alongside him down the hallway, weapons drawn, fingers on triggers and taser batons humming with latent power. Weapons pressed against his sides, thighs and lower back.

Pain in shoulder, diaphragm, lung, ribs, heart, throat, face. He couldn’t catch his breath fully, each breath was stabbing pains in his chest. Initial mission planning assessment was only 24% chance of success. Review assessment had lowered that factor to 8%. He should not have survived. Steve. They had fought together. Had they lost? He could recognize a prison when he saw one. But where was Steve?

++++++++++++++

The guards had stepped away from him after the last turn of the hallway. He was stopped from moving. They turned him, head touching the wall still bent over, and began to unlock his wrists and ankle chains. His restraints disappeared and he was moved into a standing position in front of what looked like a hotel counter.

He could feel something wet trickling down the small of his back. Blood probably. He was still taking very shallow breaths. In all honesty, he was amazed he was still standing up.

A small woman in a full dress uniform of some kind, behind the counter said “Hello Mr. Winter.” She raised her right hand holding what looked like a key card to shoulder height. She had a pistol flat on the counter next to her left hand. The four escort guards took a step closer to Bucky and pressed their weapons directly against his body again.

“Yes I can see your reservation right here.” She continued looking at a tablet screen behind the counter. “And I have the key for your room.” She waved the swipe card. “Now I think you may be familiar with some of our rules here. But we have plenty of time to go over some of them after I process your check-in.”  
The small woman looked directly into his eyes. “I am Ettol Rahc, R-A-H-C” she spelled the name slowly. “Please let me know if you need anything during your stay. Because if our guests aren’t happy then we aren’t happy. “

She arched an eyebrow, “During your stay, we will be using CD 567 1 through 5 with some modifications of course, perhaps a little more…tailored…. to your needs. We have all agreed that you will not have access to Directives 081 or 084.”

She lifted the key card to her lips. “But the most important rule, that’s the one rule I hear that you will like. Speech is something that you earn here.” She made a shushing sound. Bucky just looked at her. Unsure of what she was saying and trying very hard not to pass out.

Rahc said, “Shhh Mr. Winter. We mean it. Canada may be a joke to some of you in your line of work. But your overly patriotic colleague has left you in our care. We, like him, take this facility very seriously. Our hospitality is on the line here.”

Bucky tensed his jaw at the mention of Steve. He twitched forward involuntarily, hunching from the pain. One of the guards spoke, “Stand.” He touched Bucky’s thigh lightly with his baton.

Rahc waited until Bucky started to breathe again, “Captain. I won’t bore our guest with any more idle conversation. We only have three other guests at the moment so he has plenty of our attention until his stars and stripes colleague needs him back.”

She swiped the key card and then handed it to the guard who had spoken. Rahc smiled nastily, “Just let us know here at reception if you need anything Mr. Winter. Extra pillows? Turndown service or a hairdryer? Your Wifi password is on the desk in the room.”

She lifted the pistol and aimed it right between his eyes. “Thank you for choosing to stay with us Monsieur Winter!”

+++++++++++++++++++++

If you were reviewing the security camera footage from that level in the correctional facility outside of Edmonton, you would have seen guards running in emergency formation towards a closed cell.

Bucky was standing upright and still in a brightly lit completely bare cell, wearing only boxers. Robotic arm hanging limply, still has the red lit bracelet, deactivating it. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face. He was breathing painfully and shallowly through his nose. He is standing very still, both hands are loose at his sides.

The window in the outer cell door opens first. He can hear her voice, “You really should have paid attention when you were asked to prepare for room inspection. A-124 needed his eyes to do his job with us.” Then the inner door slid open with a clunk, and she entered his cell with a weapon in one hand. She moved much more quickly than he expected.

“Alors folks. Mr. Winter is now down. I repeat, Mr. Winter is down. Force D your assistance is requested immediately on Gamma FS. I repeat, housekeeping is needed immediately on this floor. Merci.“ She leaned down to speak closer to his ear, “Monsieur Hiver. How do you say it in English? You have been ridden hard and put away wet by your rider. We’ll have to see what we can do to help you feel more yourself during your stay with us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter titles from Modest Mouse not me.


End file.
